"Computer. Start a new criminal file. Subject name is Joker Junior. Subject height is approximately five foot eleven. Subject weight is approximately one hundred sixty pounds. Hair color green. Eye color blue. Skin color bleach white." The caped crusader sat in the command center of his lair, leafing through a manilla folder he'd received from Police Chief Haskell. A stack of them sat on the desk surface in front of him, to the right of the keyboard, and a still steaming, but half finished cup of coffee sat to the left. While most of his costume remained on his person, very little damage to it, rare a night as this was for him, the cape and cowl had been removed and sat on a table behind him, next to his utility belt.
"Known abilities and proficiencies." The computer's voice responded, prompting him for the next section. Bruce ran a hand through his hair, once a thick, luxurious black mane, but gray had blazed paths down either side of his head by this point, as well as dotting the crown of his head here and there. His face, once powerful, youthful, and strong, had a number of permanent wrinkles now. It was clear that he was no longer in his prime.
"Unknown as of this time." Bruce replied with a sigh before picking up the cup and taking a drink, flipping a page and looking at the mugshots stapled to the police intake forms. "He's the spitting image of his old man though. Presumably, he'll have a similar skill set. Looks like he's taking the copycat route." He looked up. "Add a personal reminder for tomorrow."
"Ready." The computer replied.
"Send Dick, Tim, Damien, and Barbara to scout the old known Joker stomping grounds. See if anything was left behind, or if Junior's trying to salvage anything. Also, set up surveillance around Joker's grave site and Harleen Quinzel's cell. I'll go speak to Harleen, personally, about the topic tomorrow. End reminder." Another sip from the mug.
"Reminder noted. Playback will commence upon waking." The computer responded.
"Resume criminal file." Bruce nodded.
"Criminal History." The computer's voice prompted again. Bruce's eyes narrowed as he went down the list.
"fifty-two counts of armed larceny, one count of attempted larceny, and one unsolved arson." Bruce noted. "Sixteen counts of aggravated assault, five counts of second degree murder, ten counts of third degree manslaughter." He ran down the checklist in the file.
"Criminal status." The computer indicated and Bruce sighed, closing the file folder and tossing it off to one side.
"At large. Armed and dangerous." He sounded more than slightly frustrated at having to say that.
"Personal Notes." The last section came and Bruce buried his forehead into his palms.
"Joker and Harleen's son has come back to town. In the aftermath of Arkham City, I'd made arrangements to have the boy taken care of. Sent him to a small town on the other side of Bludhaven where, I had hoped, he could grow up without being bothered by his parents' history. There were no incidents for over a decade, and then I hear that the family who'd adopted him, along with several other children, were all killed in a house fire. The boy's body was never found, but firemen had stated that temperature levels in the structure's sublevel had reached as high as three or four thousand degrees, more than hot enough to burn away any remains. Tragic as it was, I'd written the boy off as dead.
"Now that he's back, though... it begs the question of whether or not he was directly responsible for that house fire. He was careful enough to stay well under my RADAR for the following five years. Recent background searches revealed that he had memberships to a number of local public libraries, and had worked a number of odd jobs normally reserved for illegal immigrants. Using the money he earned he enrolled in a number of Gotham University web classes, maintained a fairly high GPA, did all of his work out of a number of cyber cafes." Bruce frowned. "Not the actions of a criminal mind, but more like a desperate vagabond. I don't know when, exactly, he turned to crime. But further investigations revealed contacts in the organized crime families of lower Gotham appeared just before he showed up at GNB with a false ID and an empty duffel." He took another drink from the cup, finishing off it's contents before sighing again.
"After his arrest, he identified himself as JJ." Bruce chuckled. "Like that was subtle, and then insisted he'd only come to inquire about opening an account. In the spirit of not ruling out any possibilities, I suppose it -is- actually possible that he was an innocent victim in that mess. But like my father always used to tell me, if it looks like a duck, it sounds like a duck, and it walks like a duck? It's not a songbird. And his most recent wave of assaults on financial institutions all over the city certainly do not paint a picture of innocence either. He successfully managed to hit all fifty-two public financial facilities in Gotham in just seven days. I'm still combing through evidence and reports to figure out how he managed it, but..."
"Important television broadcast incoming." The computer interrupted him.
"On screen." Bruce replied, standing up. The fifty inch plasma monitor in front of him crackled to life.
"Hello Gotham! It's been a long time, hasn't it?" The voice on the screen sounded almost identical to The Joker. Almost. The video itself, showed a line of men, all of them dressed in purple, green, and white suits, and all of them wearing large, rubber, 'Joker' face masks. "Admit it! You missed me, didn't you? How long has it been? Fifteen years? Longer? Well, dry your eyes, all you lovely people because nap time's over and I'm back, bigger, better, and jam packed full of one hundred percent more laughs." He cackled over the speakers. "But then... how do you know this isn't just some copycat scam artist? I mean. Anyone could rob a bank in a clown mask, right? It's been done! Old news! Right? Well... maybe it's time you see what's -under- the mask, then." The camera zoomed in on one of the men. "Could this one be me?" He asked with a laugh and sing-song tone. "No, you say? The bow tie is horribly off center, you say? This pathetic excuse for a copy is classless and dry, you say? I agree." A gunshot went off and the man fell dead, his mask rolling away.
"Clay Barker. Former inmate of Iron heights, incarcerated for sexual assault, aggravated assault, domestic violence, larceny, grand theft auto... and poor fashion sense..." He chuckled. "Okay I made that last one up, but tell me it's not true." Another laugh, far more hysterical this time, before the camera zoomed back out. "Mmmmm..." The camera panned back and forth a little and then zoomed in on another one. "How about this one? Hm? Could this handsome, strapping, powerful, young devil be me?" Another gunshot went off, but instead of killing him, it just grazed the top of his head, making the man jump backwards, clutching his crown, which was now bleeding as he danced around and cussed. "Nope! Too short!" And more hysterical laughter followed, as the camera zoomed back out.
"What's that you say, Gotham? You're getting impatient? Get on with it, you say?" He laughed. "My my my, people today are so very rude. Can you imagine what might've happened if someone had told Houdini to 'get on with it'? Huh? I can. And it's freaking hilarious." He laughed again. "But alright, alright. Would the real Joker please stand up?" And one on the end stepped forward, the camera zooming in on him as he pulled the rubber mask off and tossed it aside, revealing a face that was alabaster white, with painted crimson lips, dark purple circles around his eyes, and a crown of long, swept back, bright green hair. A nearly perfect replica of the Joker's face.
"Tadaaaa!" he struck a pose, a large caliber revolver in one, white-gloved hand. "Back from the dead, folks! And why? Because somewhere out there? There's an old, decrepit, rotting corpse of a Bat who just -couldn't- let me rest in peace. So! Since he's so determined to arrest innocent people until I showed up? I figured. Why let HIM have all the fun, right?" And then he busted out into hysterical laughter as he produced another copy of the same pistol, before turning around and executing all of the other men in rubber masks standing in line. "You got me with second and third degrees, Bats, there's the first!" He laughed, running over to the camera and putting his face about as close to it as he could. "You want me? Come and get me." And then more hysterical laughter followed before one final gunshot destroyed whatever camera he'd been laughing into, and the regular news broadcast returned to the television, featuring the faces of two very stunned anchors.
"Warning. Cyber intrusion alert. Firewall breached. Security protocols breached... Ha... Ha... Ha... Ha... Ha..." The computer just began repeating that line over and over again as Bruce stepped away from it, and a few moments later, sparks flew in every direction as the computer's hardware fried itself, leaving Bruce staring, wide-eyed, at a smoking chassis that had once been his main command console.
"H-how did he...?"
Yes, we. this story is cowritten by two authors. Most of these Author's Notes will be composed by Storm. This prologue was all courtesy of Darq. We won't try to interfere with your story too much though, but we feel like you should be warned if we babble at the end too much, that we do indeed have two different voices here.
(Spot for Darq to interject here)
And this is Darq, interjecting. The primary reason Storm will be writing most of these notes and tidbits, is that I can get long winded. Like. Really long winded. We're talking drunken Chinese MENSA level geniuses debating advanced algebra kinds of long winded. Yeah. It's -that- long. My wind, I mean. Eh hem. ANYWAY! I feel like I should -something- here that's actually relevant, but nothing's coming to mind at the moment. (That's a secondary reason, by the way)
(End Darq's interjection)
One last thing, the obligatory disclaimer, that will be for the entire story. We don't own any of the DC properties presented here. These particular representations of the next generation of DC characters are our personal interpretations, however, and we would really appreciate it if you left our interpretations alone in your own works. We'd rather see your ideas, not ours!